


Paint Me A Birmingham

by RVTstudent



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Established Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, F/M, Garrus Paints, Inspired by Music, One Shot, Post-Mass Effect 3, Virmire (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RVTstudent/pseuds/RVTstudent
Summary: After crash-landing on Virmire when the red pulse took out the relays, Garrus spends his days getting the Normandy back into shape, before taking a little time to himself to ponder a future he thought he'd lost.





	Paint Me A Birmingham

**Author's Note:**

> This is a totally random idea that came to me at like 2AM last night.  
> Inspired by the song "Paint Me a Birmingham" written by Buck Moore and Gary Duffy, released in 2004 by Tracy Lawrence, reaching #4 on the US Hot Country Songs (Billboard) 2003-2004.  
> The lyrics to this song (bold + italics) in this fic belong to their creators; as do Shepard & Garrus, who belong to Bioware.  
> Lyric video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvmRxVIuBvM

**_[Verse 1]_ **

_**He was sittin' there, his brush in hand** _  
_**Painting waves as they danced, upon the sand** _  
_**With every stroke, he brought to life** _  
_**The deep blue of the ocean, against the mornin' sky** _  
_**I asked him if he only painted ocean scenes** _  
_**He said for twenty dollars, I'll paint you anything** _

 

Virmire. The planet where the last three years of suicide missions had really kicked off. When he’d told Shepard that they should retire somewhere warm and tropical, Virmire had been the spot Garrus had in mind. Somewhere they could just _be_ , free from the expectations of the Alliance, the Hierarchy and the Council, and could raise their family.

The cruel irony of crash-landing on the planet wasn’t lost among those from the original Normandy crew, except this time they hadn’t just lost a crewmate, they’d lost their commander, their friend. And Garrus, he’d lost so much more. Garrus lost his best friend, his lover, and the woman he wanted to make his wife.

He started each day the same way. Garrus would make his rounds to all of the crew, pitching in where and when he could. Then, he’d go up to Shepard’s cabin and grab the brown satchel that she had given to him not long after helping Jack and her students at Grissom Academy when he'd wistfully voiced his desire to have taken art lessons.

 

_“For me?”_

_“Yes! Now are you going to open it?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her feet._

_Tearing open the paper, Garrus’ eyes widened when he unwrapped a thick, leather bound sketch book and canvases of various sizes along with different shades of charcoals, paints and gouaches._

_“Shepard,” Garrus breathed, “this must have cost a fortune.”_

_Shepard shrugged dismissively before grinning. “The way I see it is if you’re as talented on canvas as you are at splattering Reaper blood across walls, we’ll have a real Picasso on our hands and you’ll make a fortune.”_

_“Thank you Jane, this is the best gift I’ve ever been given.” Garrus’ voice was husky as he nuzzled the top of her head._

 

Retrieving the satchel, Garrus would leave the Normandy behind and plunk himself down on the small strip of beach he had discovered. Resting a canvas on his bent knees and looking out over the waves, he would begin to draw. The blue-green waters, with their whitecaps and reflections of the golden sun would lap at the white sands of the shore on his canvas.

Every day, that was as far as he could go, and despite knowing what he wanted to draw so desperately, he left large blank spaces on the canvas. He could see it clearly in his minds eye every night when he lost his battle against the effects of the sleeping pills Chakwas prescribed for him. In his dreams, the colors were so vibrant and the feelings so real that it damn near broke him when he woke each morning.

  
_**[Chorus]**_  
_**Could you paint me at Birmingham**_  
_**Make it look just the way I planned**_  
_**A little house on the edge of town**_  
_**Porch goin' all the way around**_  
_**Put her there in the front yard swing**_  
_**Cotton dress make it, early spring**_  
_**For a while she'll be mine again**_  
_**If you could paint me a Birmingham**_

 

It went the same way each time, his dream. He’d be walking from the back field towards the small house they had built together, turning in their guns for a hammer and nails. It would be yellow with powder blue trim and shutters, because Shepard always smiled when she told him of how cheerful the colors of her family home on Mindoir had been. Tiny pink and purple blooms, much like the flowers his mother used to grow on Palaven, would wind their way on verdant vines through the baluster’s of the veranda.

Ahead of him raced their two oldest, Tarquin, and Magge, from Wrex and Eve’s first clutch, excited after a session at the makeshift gun range with him.

Rounding the corner, Garrus spied the rest of their family in the backyard, shaded by the tall trees he’d planted for that exact purpose. His asari daughter Cali giggled alongside her lumbering elcor brother Chaz, who despite being the younger of the two, was more than double the size of his "twin" sister.

Nearby, Orrol had rocks of varying shapes and sizes lined up in front of him with test tubes, beakers and other paraphernalia from the science kit he had been given for his birthday spread around on the grass. Garrus was sure that their salarian son was muttering about ‘tests’ into an omni-tool recorder at a speed that Mordin would have been impressed with.

Sitting on the swing, a serene smile on her face, was Shepard. She rocked slowly, pushing off the decking with the foot not tucked beneath her as the soft ocean breeze ruffled her hair. Age may have softened her muscles and dulled the crimson fire of her hair with faint streaks of silver at her temples, but Garrus fell in love all over again each and every time he looked at her. In her arms, baby Anderson began to fuss and Shepard freed her breast, cooing at the infant as he latched on for a feed.

“Mama! Mama! Guess what?!” Tarquin bounded up the stairs excitedly, his subvocals trilling.

“What what what?” Shepard smiled.

“I hit the bullseye THREE times in a row!” Tarquin beamed.

“Good job buddy!” Shepard wrapped her free arm around Tarquin’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

“An’ Papa let me use the shotgun today Mama!” Magge clambered onto the swing beside her mother. “It went KER-BLAM and made a _huge_  hole in the target!”

“That’s my girl!” Shepard crowed, pressing a kiss onto their daughter’s forehead before locking eyes with Garrus as he climbed the few steps onto the deck.

“Hey you.”

“Hey yourself.” Garrus murmured, pressing his brow to Shepard’s own as he lifted the baby from her arms so she could get up off the swing. Garrus wiggled his mandibles playfully at Anderson, who rewarded him with contented gurgles and a toothless smile, reaching up a drool covered hand to grasp his fathers cowl.

“Dinner time kiddos!” Shepard called, holding the screened door open for their troupe to clamber into the house, “Wash your hands!” she called after them.

Garrus turned where Orrol still remained on the grass, looking intently at a rock through a magnifying glass.

“Come on Orrol.” he called, shaking his head and laughing as Orrol came past him, finishing his recording: “Parents, problematic. More tests to come.”

 

**_[Verse 2]_ **  
**_He looked at me, with knowing eyes_ **  
**_Then took a canvas from a bag there by his side_ **  
**_Picked up a brush, and said to me_ **  
**_Son, just where in this picture would you like to be_ **  
**_I said if there's any way you can_ **  
**_Could you paint me back into her arms again_ **

 

Their supplies were running low when salvation came. Garrus had been running on half, then quarter rations for weeks now. Even though he barely had the energy, he’d still drag himself down to that beach every day.

Up in the captain’s cabin, the walls were filling up. Garrus had used all of the canvases and had moved on to using the pages of the sketch pad. The charcoals had been whittled down to tiny nubs and the tubes of paints were on their last legs.

If one were to line up the pictures in chronological order, they’d see that he slowly began to fill in the blank spaces, a little at a time. He never worked on the same piece twice, always starting from scratch with each new day that came, and Garrus was sure he could paint the whole thing blindfolded by now.

After adding the finishing touches to this one, he had fallen asleep. His head was slumped forward onto his knees when he heard it.

“Officer Vakarian.”

He stirred slightly before settling.

“Officer Vakarian.” the demure voice repeated.

His eyelids fluttered for a moment, squinting at the harsh glint coming off of… _EDI?_

That had him scrabbling to his feet.

“Isn’t it great?” Joker, standing at EDI's side, had tears in his eyes, “My girl’s back!”

“I am not back, Jeff. I only have 62% functionality in this platform…”

“Semantics!” Joker scoffed playfully, wrapping his arms around EDI’s waist.

Garrus couldn’t quite understand what was going on. “How-? When-?”

“Come back to the Normandy big guy.” Joker said, stooping to hand Garrus his bag. “There’s someone you need to see.”

\---

His hands were shaking as he fumbled the door control open. Stepping inside he see’s _her._ She’s bruised, the red of her cybernetics are glowing through her skin again, and she’s missing an arm, but she’s here. In front of him. He screwed his eyes shut and pinched his arm, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. When they opened again she’s smiling at him, her green eyes twinkling in mirth.

“Shepard.” Garrus whispered. She nodded, biting her trembling lip before launching herself at him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he tumbled onto the bed from her momentum, turning their cries and her tears into laughter. Pulling back, she took a good look at him, stroking his mandible.

“What’s all this?” Shepard points, gesturing to the half finished pictures lining every available space in the room.

Garrus extricated himself from her, setting her at the foot of the bed. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out the paper, the last piece he had. One of the corners is crumpled, and the colors are a bit smudged from where he had shoved it into the bag in his rush to get back to the Normandy.

“They uh-,” he stammered, “they were all missing one thing.” Garrus handed her the page. “You.”

Shepard’s silent as she studies the picture, and Garrus sat next to her, swallowing nervously.

“It’s what I had in mind when I said we’d retire somewhere warm and tropical.”

“Oh Garrus - this is beautiful…show me where?”

Taking her by the hand, Garrus lead Shepard down to the secluded beach where together they planned how to bring his painting, the only one he’d ever completed, to life.


End file.
